Wednesday, April 30, 2014

The man on the television warned me that soon the ants would come, soon the moist warm weather would bring the ants, and that there was nothing I could do about it, for they would come, and they would come in hordes, and you better run for your mammy and your little blankey because here comes the ants and there is nothing you can do about it. Buddy.

Unless you place a trail of cornmeal along the edge of your sink. Ants can eat cornmeal, but they cannot digest it, and soon after eating it, they will die, and those who are close to them will die, and the rest will die as well, and you won’t have to worry about ants anymore and you will be able to rest and enjoy the world again and it will be sunshiny and sweet and everything said the beautiful lady with the chestnut hair and the blue blouse and the white shoes on television, the woman I loved much more than I loved the man on television would said you should run for my life, you better run for your life, here come the ants, although I do love him, also, I love the excitement of loving him, oh so much, I do.

The truth is, in the 30’s, everyone worked hard with their hands. The brave movie director would show hands and linger on them.

The cowardly movie director would not. Often a pair of hands would hold a wedding ring. One pair would hand the ring to the other. The couple would be young and filled with hope, but their hands were old and gnarled and could only think of rain, crops, the seasons, the sun, the future, sex, more sex, rain.

Some words need other words, like some people need other dogs, or people, or sometimes, a kite made out of onionskin, or even, at times, a metaphor. You ask me why now, because, I say, I am thinking of one: buttery. It needs someone. It needs someone the way I need something, walking out into traffic, not exactly smiling, but smooth, and certain.

it was first used to quantify signal losses in telephone circuits in 1931: the year my Papa entered high school, four years before King Kong climbed the Empire State Building, four years, two hours, before King Kong died.